Chosen by Desire (7 page)

“Have you met him?”

“No. I only know that he’s amassed one of the most impressive private collections of Chinese artifacts and texts. And I’ve heard his family is pretty rich.” She picked up her old bikini. She hadn’t worn it since she moved to San Francisco four years ago, but swimming seemed like a great idea. Wondering if it still fit, she threw it in her bag, too.

“He sounds perfect for you,” her mom exclaimed. “The same interests.
He
loves Chinese things,
you
love Chinese things—”

“He’s probably a perverted old man,” she said absently as she folded her only dress. She usually wore jeans, but might as well take something nicer in case she ended up going out to dinner.

“Carrie, honey, I love you like the dickens, but I can tell you’re tuning me out.”

She laughed and perched on the edge of her twin bed. “Sorry, Mom. I’m preoccupied with packing.”

“I think you should make the most of this opportunity. It couldn’t have come at a better time in your life.”

If only Leonora had been as enthusiastic. She seemed to think that the few weeks in Santa Monica would interfere with her research and discouraged her from leaving. So it was nice that someone was excited.

“I know this is a great opportunity. I’d be a fool to pass it up.” Carrie closed the top of her suitcase and pushed it aside.

“I’m talking more than just career-wise, honey. You’re going to meet your heart’s mate. If he’s rich, all the better.” Her mom sighed. “My mother’s intuition is going off like crazy.”

“Mom, I hate to tell you this, but I won’t have time for anything but work. And I doubt I’ll meet Bái H
. Apparently he’s reclusive. I’ll probably be working with his assistant.”

“Hmm,” her mom said noncommittally.

Carrie laughed. “Seriously, Mom. I’m the hired help. We’re not going to be hanging out.”

“It’s not natural going celibate for so long, honey. Not even I’ve been celibate as long as you.”

“
Mom.
” She shook her head. They had an open relationship, but some things she didn’t need to know. Like the time she’d gone home for Christmas and found a vibrator in the bathroom cabinet—along with a pair of velvet cuffs.

“Honey—” Her mom paused.

By her tone, Carrie knew she was either going to bring up her dad or ask something invasive.
Please let it be something invasive.
She’d rather say when she’d gotten laid last than talk about the man who’d abandoned them.

“Honey, if you’re a lesbian, I’d understand.”

She sputtered for a moment before she burst out laughing.

“I love you no matter what. And there’s nothing wrong with being a lesbian. I kissed a girl or two in my youth, too.”

“
Mom.
” Groaning, she squeezed her eyes shut and forbade herself from picturing it.

“I just wondered,” her mom said. “You moved to San Francisco, after all.”

“To go to Cal, not to hide my sexuality from you.” She shook her head. “I appreciate your understanding, but I’m not gay. If I ever decide to bat for the other team, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Just so you know I’m always here for you.”

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, honey.” She paused. “You’ll be open to the possibilities, won’t you? And you’ll call me when you arrive?”

“Of course I’ll call you. It’s not like I’m going someplace foreign. I’m just going to LA.”

“Honey, I’ve been to LA, and it’s as foreign as you can get.” She made kissy noises, just like she’d always done when she said good night. “Love you, Carrie honey. And make sure you pack the underwear I sent for Christmas, just in case.”

Grinning, she rolled her eyes and hung up. But she opened her drawer and pulled out the underwear.

Yeah—still as naughty as she remembered. A handful of lace and satin in black. Racy see-through panties that revealed more than they covered. She’d never worn any of it, but she didn’t tell her mom that. Her mom probably knew—the woman had this weird sixth sense about her that Carrie had never been able to understand.

Why was she even considering packing them? She shook her head. You wore underwear like this for someone else to see, and she wasn’t going to get the opportunity to show it off for anyone in Santa Monica. Not with the work schedule she had planned.

“Ugh.” She grabbed the undies and tossed them in her suitcase. It wasn’t like they took up room, and she could tell her mom she brought them.

She surveyed her suitcase. Mostly packed. She still had to add her laptop, a dictionary, and a couple other reference books she might need. They were piled on her living room floor. She turned to get them and ran into her messenger bag, resting at the foot of her bed.

The texts. She needed to take them, too—to do her own research in the evenings. She packed them one by one in her clothes, taking special care so they wouldn’t get damaged in any way.

But the last scroll grabbed her attention, just like it had at the monastery. When she ran a finger along its edge, she had that same feeling of dipping into cool water.

“Odd.” She untied the leather and unrolled a small portion of the scroll.

The black script was tiny—smaller than in Wei Lin’s journal—but elegant, formed with an expert, light hand. She traced the first character of the first line. “Beautiful.”

The gentle sound of lapping water followed her reverent whisper. She shook her head to clear her ears and began to read, the words echoing curiously in her head at the same time.

Here begins the Book of Water, wherein lies the truth about man and energy. For energy is but a tool, good or bad determined by he who wields it…

Staring at the scroll she held in her hand, she froze. Was she imagining it?

No. She rubbed her fingers along the cool paper. She let herself blink, and then she reread the opening.

Still the same, complete with the disembodied echo.

“Oh. My. God.” Her heart began to beat triple time, because the roll of paper in her lap wasn’t someone’s journal. It was one of the infamous Scrolls of Destiny.

T
he flight to Los Angeles was short and uneventful, landing on time. Francesca picked her up from LAX, looking like a Wall Street princess with her immaculate suit, huge Coach bag, and ever-present Blackberry.

The woman was as chilly as ever, so instead of trying to make conversation with her, Carrie sat back to enjoy the scenery. At least she tried, but she kept getting distracted by the tug of the ocean. It reminded her of the dream she had last night—yeah, another one. More vivid than the one before and starring the monk—again.

In the dream, she swam out to him and anchored her legs around his waist, his erection rubbing against her intimately. The water seemed to join in their play, and it created this weird, erotically charged threesome. She woke up moaning, the sheets tangled around her legs.

What was her problem? Why couldn’t she be normal and dream about Brad Pitt? On dry land. Heck, in a bed, even. Maybe her mom was right—maybe she really did need to get lucky.

Of course, she’d been obsessed with water lately. It didn’t escape her that her strange water fixation could be tied to finding the Book of Water. Probably a subconscious acting-out of her guilt.

She’d return it. As soon as she studied it a little. She’d tried taking photos of it, but every attempt came out blurry. She couldn’t send it back without reading it. They probably wouldn’t notice its disappearance as long as she didn’t keep it overly long.

She clutched her bag, where she’d tucked the scroll away. There hadn’t been any record of anyone documenting one of the Scrolls of Destiny. Ever. This could be huge for her.

They drove through Santa Monica and up the coast, turning off Highway 1 and onto a scenic drive. Traffic became sparser as the houses dotting the gentle hills became larger.

They stopped at one of those houses.

Though
house
seemed an inadequate description. Small mansion maybe. It was a Mediterranean style home, something you’d expect in Greece. Or Southern California.

“Not in Kansas anymore,” Carrie murmured to herself, opening the car door. The ocean stretched vast just beyond the house. She inhaled its salty tang and started toward it.

“Ms. Woods,” Francesca called crisply.

Oh, right. Maybe later. She could go for walks on the beach every day—anything to keep her butt from reaching epic proportions (drat her love of carbs). She glanced at the water longingly again before turning around.

Francesca was already clacking up the wide porch steps to the front door. “We’re behind schedule. He expected us fourteen minutes ago.”

“Fourteen minutes should be forgivable,” Carrie said, hurrying to catch up.

The woman stopped and frowned at her.

Carrie practically tripped over her feet to keep from running into Francesca. “I mean, neither air travel nor LA traffic is predictable.”

Does not compute
was written clearly on her face. But she didn’t say anything, instead pulling out her keys and continuing for the door.

Carrie sighed and skipped up the steps.

The door opened before Francesca reached it. Standing in the doorway was a tall, broad, barefoot man in jeans and a flowy white linen shirt. He had wild blond hair that needed a cut—

She froze on the top porch step. The monk.

Woo-hoo—it was him! Her girly parts tingled in anticipation. Maybe her sex dreams didn’t have to be just dreams. Thank goodness she packed her sexy undies.

Oh, God—wait. Why was he here? Did he know about the journal and scrolls?

What was she thinking? He had to know she’d stolen from the monastery. She bit her lip. Would he believe her if she handed over her bag and told him she didn’t mean to do it?

She studied him, but she couldn’t read anything from his gaze. Maybe he was waiting for the police to show up before he made a move.

Oh, God—her mom was going to flip out if she ended up in jail.

Stop acting like a spaz.
She drew in a deep breath, and the smell of the ocean soothed her.

And cleared her mind enough to think logically. If he thought she’d taken something, he would have just found her and demanded it back—he didn’t have to hire her. This had to be a coincidence. So she relaxed.

Only then she remembered her dreams and tensed again. It didn’t help that he was watching her so closely.

Shifting her bag, she glanced at Francesca, hoping the woman would break the awkward moment with an introduction, but Francesca just stared at him with single-minded focus.

He didn’t seem aware of the woman whatsoever. She wondered if he was gay, because Francesca was the kind of beautiful that deserved to be on the silver screen.

Carrie looked at him, at the intense way he watched her with his hooded gaze, and shivered. Definitely not gay. The guy had woman-attracting pheromones oozing from every pore.

Which was going to make sticking to her all-work/no-play philosophy over the next four weeks that much more difficult.

As Max held the door open wide and moved aside to let her into his home, he saw it again—that damned little-girl twinkle in her eyes just like at the monastery.